Survival
by speshulduck
Summary: survival is a hard lesson, even for a vulcan


title: survival  
  
author: duck  
  
rating: r, for some lovin' and some killin'  
  
pairing: trip and t'pol. a lot of it.  
  
summary: survival is a painful lesson, even to vulcans  
  
disclaimer: ain't mine, never will be, although i like to let them out of their boxes every now an' then cause otherwise they'd never have any fun. although this proly wasn't much fun for em in the beginning.  
  
author's note: a particularly twisted little scenario i dreamed up. the words just sorta poured out so i'm not really sure how good it actually is. and i figure it's probably set in late in the first season (which makes it desperately au)  
  
The darkness was bitter, choking, and it held all animals not of the night still, terrified until the morning rays of sunlight broke through the forest shimmering with heat. Thankfully the figure that crouched just behind the copse was adaptable enough to walk both in the day and the night. He hunkered down and observed for an endless five minutes, the blue eyes that hid behind a dirt-streaked face staring at the precise spot the day-creature had disappeared into. Hunting could be messy work, and if he missed this one, they would be hungry tomorrow morning. No matter how much his companion complained about eating meat, he stuffed it down her throat so he wouldn't have to be slowed carrying her when they traveled.  
  
Her.  
  
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the thought. She drove him crazy sometimes with her endless prattling about where they came from. He had given up listening two days ago; given up telling her he was of the forest and of no such fantastic places as she described. He knew his name and how to survive and that was enough. She tried to call him differently at first than he knew, but he'd corrected her so many times she'd actually begun to call him by his real name.  
  
There...a movement in the grass. The day-creature thought he had gone. In a flash his knife was out and he moved, his reflexes honed by hunger. The creature struggled briefly as his knife sank all the way into the ground. It writhed, it's lifeblood spilling out staining the grass darkly in the night. He held it quietly until it's movements ceased and it had no breath left in it. He picked it up and let a feral grin crack the grit on his face. It was larger than last time; more than enough to feed them both for a day.  
  
He growled as the thought of her crossed his mind again. Why he ever bothered to put up with her and how much she slowed him down he'd never understand. It was a compulsion that went beyond the need to sleep, the need to survive. Somehow, in his mind, her survival was paramount.  
  
He began walking softly, careful not to tread on dry sticks and leaves that would betray his position to other stalkers of the night. Though he smelled nothing on the wind, that did not mean they could not smell him or the blood of his prey. There were reasons the forest was virtually immobile at night, and he didn't intend to be caught by one.  
  
The minutes passed quickly as he trotted over ground made familiar by necessity and he soon found himself in the small clearing they had camped in for the night. She was sleeping over there, her steady breathing unhindered by the trials of the waking world. They had been traveling together for four days now and he could tell that she was tired of it, though she never complained about that. Always complaining about being too "far from the shuttle" and how the "first aid kit didn't help his cracked human head."  
  
He reached up gingerly to rub the spot on his scalp that still ached, even though she'd done something to him before he'd woken up that first night. He had a scar there, she told him, not too big, but the wound had damaged something in his head. He had laughed at that and told her this is where he was meant to be; at one with the forest. She shook her head and followed when he demanded they travel. Which was every day.  
  
Someone was coming and they were hunting him. It raised the hair on the back of his neck even now, when he knew there was no one nearby. He scanned the forest once before kneeling down to skin the day-creature he had killed. There would be a fire in the morning, briefly before they began, to cook it. He'd tried it raw as his instincts told him to the first time, but he'd spit it up and wasted perfectly good food, and she'd convinced him not to try it again.  
  
Once he was finished he strung it up in a tree out of the reach of any prowling night-walker. He would wake and his knife would do the work necessary before it would kill either of them, but he would be damned if he let some scavenger steal his hard-won meal. He crossed the clearing and lay down at her side, his knife gripped firmly in his hand, still sheathed, but ready at a moment's notice.  
  
She stirred briefly as he settled it, blue eyes still constantly surveying the dark forest even as he closed them. He allowed himself to slip instantly into a light sleep, and there was only darkness until morning.  
  
=/\=  
  
T'Pol awoke to the crackling of the small fire as she had every morning for the past four. She almost groaned as she opened her eyes to the bright morning sunshine and the sight of her fellow crewmember hunched over the flame, roasting something. It smelled disgustingly of meat as it had every day before.  
  
"Trip--" she began, just like every morning. He cut her off with a wave of his hand.  
  
"We go in five minutes."  
  
He insisted they move every day. At first she thought she could keep them within a reasonable distance to their crashed shuttle, but he moved in a straight, unwavering line away from it. When she asked, he'd said there were things following them, but with her damaged scanner unable to confirm or deny, she'd been forced to rely on his judgment.  
  
Although there was no gauging exactly how impaired that judgment was, she though, eyeing him warily. He'd suffered a major trauma to the head getting their damaged shuttlepod down in one piece. She'd been able to use the emergency medkit to heal the surface wound, but nothing could be done for his mind. He'd reverted to only the baser instincts of man, still able to communicate, but unable to remember who he was. Her lip curled distastefully at the thought of having to rely on a human's most basic instincts for survival.  
  
She finally gave in to the inevitable and sat up, observing his behavior carefully. She knew he didn't look it, but he was constantly aware of his surroundings. His ears and nose watched where his eyes could not, and his eyes saw almost everything in the daylight anyway. He only worried her when he went off in the middle of the night to hunt. She watched the muscles tighten and ripple across his back as he stretched his arms out to the side, then over his head. He had stripped down to only his jumpsuit pants, cutting with his knife everything that wouldn't come off by pulling. His boots and socks had long been discarded, a very unwise move she had told him. He hadn't listened.  
  
She rested her chin in her hand and continued to contemplate his back. It was streaked with dirt and dried mud, half of which he'd put on there himself. She had to admit it did camouflage him rather efficiently in the dark, and sometimes well enough during the day. He turned around to stare back at her and she was afforded a view of a chest and face layered with just as much grime.  
  
"Why d'you have to stare at me all the time?" Even with amnesia, his southern accent--she'd once heard Hoshi call it "charming"--was pronounced.  
  
"I am merely thinking," she returned evenly. Indeed, she had one option open to her, although she suppressed a shudder at the thought. She could attempt a mindmeld with him and force his memories to come back. But she'd never attempted a meld herself before, and the only time she'd ever been in one she had been forced herself and she wasn't about to inflict that on anyone.  
  
"Well can't you 'think' an' look somewhere else?" His eyes may have looked like blue steel, but she could tell there was an inherent trust of her there, no matter what his words.  
  
"I was thinking of you; it merely seemed logical to look at you."  
  
"You and your damn 'logic.' Do you ever stop going on about it?" He sighed, but an easy grin had slipped on to his face and she could almost imagine for a moment that they were back on the Enterprise and this was just another one of their infamous arguments known across the ship.  
  
"As you are so fond of reminding me every day, no." He rolled his eyes at that.  
  
"You ain't gonna try and tell me about that ship again, are ya?" She shook her head; she'd given up the futility of reminding him who he was two days ago. "Good," was all he said as he turned back to the fire. She resisted the rather strong and childish temptation to stick her tongue out at him. It was harder than she thought and her tongue ended up pressed again the back of her teeth.  
  
She swiped a dirty hand across her eyes and longed for her quarters back aboard the Enterprise where she could meditate in peace with no disturbances. Her attempts at meditation of late had, expectedly, been horrible and unsatisfying and as a result, she could feel control slipping at times. Like now, when it was all she could do to not stick her tongue out at a chief engineer who couldn't remember who he was.  
  
He stood abruptly, bringing his nearly cooked food with him. He tore a chunk off and tossed it at her as he scuffed dirt over the fire. She caught it and sniffed it; it smelled worse up close. She sighed and delicately picked off a smaller piece to put in her mouth. She could hear him grunt in approval; he'd had to hold her down and force her to eat it the first time. Now with no imminent rescue visible on the horizon she admitted that if she didn't eat, she'd die.  
  
She recoiled instinctively from the taste of flesh, but managed to chew it and get it down anyway. Eating with her fingers was bad enough, but eating meat...she suppressed a shudder. Trip had finished putting out the fire and picked up the small bag he'd carried from their crashed shuttle. He ripped a chunk of meat of for himself before stuffing the rest in the bag. She shuddered again at the thought of cold meat for lunch and dinner, but at least there was enough this time for three meals for each of them.  
  
He slung the bag over his shoulder and pointed off in a northern direction. "We go that way today."  
  
"Why?" she asked, standing. They had been heading on a steady western course their entire travel.  
  
"Because there is a river that way, and rivers mean fish."  
  
"And water," she reminded him. She picked up the canteen she had brought and shook it. It was nearly empty. They'd already refilled it twice at small streams.  
  
"Yes I know, let's move," he said shortly, already moving out of the clearing and making hardly any noise, even to her sensitive Vulcan ears. She struggled as she had every morning with following or turning back, but she knew she was too far away from the shuttle to ever make it back on her own.  
  
So she let an arguably human sigh slip out and followed blindly.  
  
=/\=  
  
They didn't stop until it the sky had darkened to a deep red hue behind bright green trees. The river had long since passed under their feet and T'Pol could feel the ache radiating from somewhere along her insteps. She was beginning to rethink her policy on shoes as she took them off to rub her swollen feet gingerly. Two-inch heels were not the best thing to go tramping about a forest in.  
  
She could feel his eyes on him, though when she turned to look he was rummaging through his bag.  
  
"I don't suppose you'll be fixing fish tonight?" she asked quietly. He'd managed to spear three in the river before insisting they move out.  
  
"Why would I?" he returned, his gaze curious.  
  
"Variety of diet. One cannot survive on one source of food alone." Unless it was a protein resequencer, she thought almost longingly to herself.  
  
He eyed her closely, eyes roaming over her disheveled hair and dirty hands all the way down to her throbbing feet.  
  
"Perhaps you are right," he admitted quietly. "Although a fire wouldn't be a great idea at night. Might attract the wrong kind of attention."  
  
"Is it not worth the risk this one time?" She could feel herself almost pleading with him, which was very uncharacteristic of her. She put that thought out of her mind and instead watched the war that went on behind his eyes. He wanted to please her, despite his stubborn streak, but survival was an overwhelming factor in his damaged brain.  
  
"Fine," he said shortly. She had to stop the smile that threatened to break out over her face and settled for a nod instead. He set about preparing the fish with his back to her before she could say anything more and she sighed and leaned against a tree, trying to look anywhere but at him.  
  
She failed of course, and her gaze drifted towards his back, as it did most of the time. His tense back that stretched as he reached out for dry wood. She could hear the muscles and tendons as they cracked slightly; could see the strain that the fight to survive was putting on him, no matter what he said or didn't say.  
  
Light of a thousand katras, what was she thinking? She pulled her gaze down to her feet and continued rubbing, thinking furiously that when she got back to the ship she was going to have to meditate for days to purge all this excess emotion.  
  
She slowed her massage and glanced back up at him again, then back down to her feet. A brief idea flittered across her mind; it just might work.  
  
She rose with a grace learned from a lifetime of practice and closed the distance between them. She sat down mere inches from his unmoving form, strangely unmoving considering he was only halfway through preparing their meal. When she placed her hands on his back she could feel his skin jump at the sensation that passed between them.  
  
"Relax," she commanded imperiously. "You are far too tense."  
  
She had to force her breathing to remain at a steady pace. The Vulcan sense of touch was closely linked with a latent empathy and sometimes telepathy and touching another always led to certain feelings. Especially touching another's bare skin.  
  
He exhaled sharply as she began to rub, gently at first then harder. She dug into his hard muscles, willing herself to close off the itch that was beginning in the back of her mind. She kneaded at the hard line of his neck and steadily down the muscles of his spine. The itching became a burning. She jabbed her thumbs and strong fingers into the planes of his shoulders, opening up her palms to squeeze and release repeatedly. The burning became a flame.  
  
He spun in place quicker than she expected and grabbed her wrists. She could have easily thrown him off, her strength being much more than his, but she didn't.  
  
"What is this, in my head?" he asked, his breath ragged. Around them darkness had all but fallen and T'Pol realized she'd been massaging him for at least ten minutes.  
  
"Do you trust me?" His face went hard and his eyes masked over.  
  
"Why?" The one word was filled with suspicion enough to warn her to stop, but she pushed ahead.  
  
"I want to touch your mind," she said, struggling to keep the breathlessness out of her voice.  
  
"Why?" he repeated, blue eyes blazing from underneath a mask of dirt.  
  
"To feel the real you," she replied.  
  
"Why?" he demanded for a third time. Behind him the fire roared merrily, sending off a diffused glow through their small clearing.  
  
"Please let me help." The humility that suffused her tone caught her by surprise, but it was by no mean anywhere near what it did to him. His head yanked to the side, as if he couldn't stand looking at her. His grip on her wrists tightened and she could feel the burning returning to the back of her mind. Blindly out of a need she didn't understand she pushed her hands forward, fingertips grazing katra-points and he gasped in shock as her thoughts collided with his.  
  
Instantly his face was gone from underneath her hands and a rush of cold enveloped her, despite the warm night. She could feel him shoving her down and a rough whisper in her ear. "There's someone out there. Don't move."  
  
He was gone, the pressing weight of him no longer a protection against the shivering that wracked her body. He stomped out the fire before he disappeared into the night, barely taking the time to kick dirt over it once it was out. She withdrew into herself, forcing her mind to repair itself. She had glimpsed the depths of his mind and it had scared her. His entire thought process had been reorganized from Starfleet officer to little more than an animal hell-bent on surviving and getting her to survive with him. She hadn't expected it to be so deep.  
  
She shivered, but no longer with a cold that emanated from her soul as she looked around. A sense of helplessness threatened to overwhelm her until she took several calm steadying breaths. Strange caterwauls screamed out of the jungle to her left and her head snapped in that direction. She knew now what it was like to be a creature of the day here, unable to function at night where killers could swoop down in a soundless instant out of the dark.  
  
Another dying scream sounded out of the forest and she crushed the urge to hug her knees to her chest, instead crawling towards the brush to the left of the clearing. It wouldn't provide much cover, but at least it was further away from the screaming. Light, she swore to herself, let that not be Trip.  
  
Once she felt hidden enough, she became bolder. The minutes passed and she could hear nothing. She peered out from under her screen and saw only darkness, not even glowing embers from the fire remained. She waited a few more moments before making her move out.  
  
The instant she emerged a terrible noise raised from just in front of her. She barely had time to register the fact that there was a darker shape charging straight at her before she was swept with the realization she was about to die. An analytical part of her mind remained detached and forced her eyes to remain open from a scientific sense of curiosity. It recognized the body as humanoid in shape, running on bipedal legs with distinctly large arms outstretched over its head, what was doubtlessly a spear gripped between the two hands. She accepted her death quietly, experiencing a pang of regret that her katra would not have the opportunity to return to Vulcan and rest with her ancestors.  
  
An even wilder yell from almost directly above her startled her out of her reverie and she experienced a vague sense of surprise as another shape dropped down out of the tree to crash her attacker to the jungle floor. One hand whipped up and down once, the thwack of the knife entering flesh was only heard once, but it was enough. The man had been stopped only feet from her and she could see the knife was embedded in the back of his neck. Her savior's head snapped up, eyes blazing even in the dark. His knife was out of his victim's neck and he had risen before she could blink once.  
  
"I told you to stay put," he snarled, grabbing her by both arms and pushing her roughly back towards their camp.  
  
"I...I am sorry," she stumbled out. She fell hard into the ground when he let go of her. The analytical portion of her mind resumed its wonderings and she registered the shivering as part of going into shock.  
  
"We have to leave here. Now," he snapped, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.  
  
"I am going into shock," she stated. "I will be unable to travel."  
  
He growled something unintelligible and scooped her up before she realized what he was doing. "Then I'll jus' hafta carry you." The hard edge hadn't left his voice and she didn't question him. She merely clung tightly to his neck and held on for the ride.  
  
=/\=  
  
She hadn't really remembered stopping just before dawn, but she knew they had, and she realized the sun was most of the way up into the sky. She managed to sit up, although the cracking in her neck told her that not even days of meditation were going to solve everything that was probably wrong with her.  
  
Not to mention the itching she still felt in the back of her mind.  
  
One glance at the rocks next to her confirmed her suspicion. Trip lay passed out propped against them, one hand still gripping her arm, although without the urgency of last night. She let her mind drift and then focused, piercing the hazed memories of shock and was startled to realize she'd almost died.  
  
She had fanned the itching into a burning before she'd realized what she was doing.  
  
So she had control over some of it.  
  
Most curious.  
  
She pried his fingers off his arm before she could reconsider breaking the contact. He mumbled in his sleep and almost fell away from the rock. She cradled him gently, telling herself it wasn't because she wanted to keep touching him. The burning returned full force.  
  
She laid him down carefully, pillowing his head on a tuft of grass. He moaned and she smoothed the matted hair away from his dirty face. She would have taken the opportunity to clean it too, but she wasn't sure how far away they were from water. She carefully smothered the burning back down to itching and began probing his body as gently as she could, searching for any obvious sign of injury. She found only bruises discoloring his ribs.  
  
She loathingly withdrew her hands and felt the itching vanish. She tried to put it out of her mind and turned to examining herself. Her uniform top and shoes had been left last night and she could feel the beginning of dehydration forming in the back of her throat, but she wasn't any worse for wear.  
  
Standing up cautiously, she became aware of the musical tinkling of water. She sighed in relief, scrambling to the other side of the rocks where a stream of substantial size bubbled quietly. She ducked her head completely under before stopping to drink in the refreshing liquid. Her hands scrubbed through her wet hair, making it stand up awkwardly and long fingers sought out pressure points in the muscles of her neck, forcing them to temporarily relax.  
  
Climbing back over the rocks she spared one glance at Trip before taking stock of their possessions. She discovered the only thing he'd grabbed of hers had been the canteen of water. The medkit was gone and her communicator and scanner, though both broken, were still sitting in her uniform jacket back at their abandoned campsite.  
  
So much for fixing them, she sighed to herself. She set about fixing something to eat instead, feeling an iron-hard determination to show him he wasn't the only person who could do well in a survival situation.  
  
=/\=  
  
He awoke slowly to something soft and wet rubbing at his face. His senses deadened from exhaustion, he moved leaden arms up to push it away only to have them placed firmly back by his sides. He tried again, feeling like he was moving through a viscous fluid.  
  
"When you wake up enough, there is some fish to eat." It was her. Actually her voice sounded rather pleasant on his ears and he could feel a smile stretch across his face.  
  
"Darlin' you take such great care of me," he slurred. He forced his eyes at least halfway open and he caught the tail-end of a sharp look from his caregiver.  
  
"Trip?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
"What?" His voice was becoming a little more clear now.  
  
"Do you...remember much?"  
  
"If your askin' do I remember you gettin' yourself almost killed last night, yeah," he said. There wasn't any anger in his voice, just acceptance.  
  
"Okay," she said simply. He laughed; she was as easy to read as a book.  
  
"Hopin' I'd just suddenly remember this mighty spaceship of yours?" He pushed the thought out of his head that he had no idea what a "book" was.  
  
"Possibly. One never can tell with amnesia." She was carefully keeping her tone neutral.  
  
"I also seem to remember haulin' your little ass a great distance last night, and I think you mentioned something about food a couple of minutes ago..." he trailed off hopefully, sniffing the air.  
  
"Indeed," she said, and he saw one eyebrow go up. He groaned in response. "What?" she asked.  
  
"You ain't gonna start that whole eyebrow thing again? Like I was all gettin' used to being able to read some actual emotion from ya," he groused, sitting up and reaching for the food she handed him. She didn't dignify his question with a response.  
  
He had swallowed nearly all of his food before she spoke. "Why do you place my survival above your own?"  
  
"Well, I try not to think about it really," he stalled. He felt something really important was hovering right behind his thoughts. "I dunno, you're like more important than me or something." He shrugged indifferently. "'Sides, you're like...I dunno...a woman. And that implies...something."  
  
"Caveman tendencies," she muttered half under her breath. "Well, woman or not, I am ordering that we rest here all of today and tonight."  
  
"Ordering, huh?" he asked, amused. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, on that ship thing, you outrank me or something right?" She nodded coolly. "Well, I suppose that's all right. We're near water though, so we gotta be careful. That's where they picked up our trail yesterday, nearest I can figure."  
  
"You mean those...people weren't who had been following us before?"  
  
"Naw," he said shaking his head. "They're still out there, I'd reckon." He rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "I can feel it."  
  
She rose and began to climb over the rocks. "I am going to finish bathing," she announced calmly.  
  
"Right, well, I'll just, uh, stay over here then," he mumbled, a southern gentleman briefly pushing up through the encrusted dirt of a man driven only by instinct. He watched her disappear over the tops of the stone and sighed. He looked down at his chest made completely brown by muck and sniffed lightly. He didn't exactly smell like a rose. Not that he knew what a rose was. Maybe he'd clean himself up a bit next. Nothing too extreme, but enough to make his presence tolerable....  
  
=/\=  
  
It was harder than he thought. She'd found a deeper pool slightly downstream, but his ribs were so sore he had trouble moving his arms enough to scrub at himself with the bit of cloth she'd torn off from her undershirt. He'd had a hard time keeping his eyes to himself when she'd come back dressed only in that and shorts, her pants draped over her arm. Very short shorts.  
  
"It's too hot," she'd said at his inquisitive look.  
  
"Oh," he'd replied, not really registering much of anything, not to mention the ghost of a smile that flittered across her face.  
  
He was trying his hardest not to think about her. She'd been such a pain for the past few days he was having trouble adjusting to thinking of her as anything else. But that way she'd touched him last night...just before the hunters had come. He had felt something tickling deep in the recess of his mind, his skin afire wherever she touched. He could almost imagine her fingers on his back again and his eyes slid half shut.  
  
He yelped when he realized she actually was touching him.  
  
"Do not yell," she commanded. She reached around and tugged the piece of cloth from his hand. "You obviously are in too much pain to clean yourself."  
  
"Maybe I don't need to be clean," he shot back, simultaneously cursing himself that she'd managed to sneak up on him like that and thanking whatever fate existed that he'd chosen to keep his pants on during his bath.  
  
She shoved him down in the water, making him sit on the bottom of the shallow end of the pool. He really was too tired to resist. And the way she was just rubbing off all that dirt felt too good to stop, really. And when she moved to the front to scrub off his chest, why bother stopping her? Really, she was almost done.  
  
He could feel the pleasant tingling in the back of his mind again and he began to accept it as the natural order of things when she touched him.  
  
"Hey, on this ship of yours," he asked sleepily, "what am I to you?" He growled wordlessly when she pulled away and he opened his blue eyes to meet startled brown ones. He laughed in the back of his throat. "'Bout time the emotion came back." He growled again and reached out to pull her hands back down to his chest. She resumed her ministrations with mechanical efficiency and he closed his eyes again.  
  
"You are a...friend and colleague."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"You are."  
  
"I don't doubt it." He opened one eye cautiously. "You never wanted anything more?" All motion stopped. He grinned and opened the other eye. "Well?"  
  
"I am Vulcan," she stated quietly.  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She took a deep breath before answering. "I am Vulcan and you are human. It would never work."  
  
"But you would want it to?"  
  
"No," she said quickly. She wouldn't meet his eyes.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"That is always a distinct possibility," she admitted. "I have been unable to meditate for several days and I am rather...imbalanced as a result." Her eyes shifted upward to look into his. "Why all the sudden interest in Enterprise? I thought you did not believe me."  
  
"I don't," he said, shrugging. "I just wanted to know what you'd say." He felt suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. He slid away from her and ducked himself completely under the water to get away from the heat of it. He came back up and began shaking the water violently out of his hair. She'd already moved past him to return to the edge of the pool. When he stood the water came up to mid-thigh.  
  
"Clean enough for ya?" he asked her retreating back. She turned and he felt the cool sweep of her eyes take all of him in.  
  
"It will be sufficient."  
  
"Good," he growled softly, not meant for her ears to hear. Although from the slight hitch in her step, he realized he'd underestimated her hearing capacity. By a lot.  
  
=/\=  
  
He'd taken up a sitting position on the bank by the time she returned with their few items, obviously intending to move their camp here. He didn't object.  
  
Nor did he object when she handed him his dinner or when she laid down at dusk ten feet away at the base of a outcropping of rocks. He continued to stare out over their small pool and think. He knew it was a dangerous thing to stop and think when one is running for one's life, but something else whispered at him that thinking was always necessary with women. Better to be cautious than find your head bitten off.  
  
When darkness had fallen completely, he finally stirred from his position next to the water. He took up his customary place next to her. She didn't move, but he knew she wasn't asleep. He reached out brushed one unruly strand of hair away from her forehead.  
  
"You never really answered my question earlier, you know," he said softly. "As to why it'd never work out between us." He let his hand trace down the smooth curve of her cheek, the thin line of her neck, the ball of her shoulder, the hardness of her arms. It finally came to rest somewhere around her belly and he could feel her skin quiver under his hand, which was none too steady itself.  
  
"Because you hate me," she whispered.  
  
"I could never hate you," he pronounced vehemently.  
  
"You hate me because I represent all the repression you feel your people suffered at the hands of mine." Her voice was flat, but a bitterness ran through it that surprised him.  
  
"You don't seem like cruel people to me."  
  
"You think we held you back in regard to scientific advancement."  
  
He was quiet for a moment, considering his options. "Y'know then, it's a good thing I don't believe a word of your crazy story 'bout some ship traveling through the cosmos. Cause then I'd never do this."  
  
He leaned over before he could stop himself and kissed her. The shock of her mouth against his was both startling and all-encompassing and it sent a jolt through his nervous system that he wasn't expecting. Least of all he expected her to kiss back, which she was most definitely doing. Her mouth ground hungrily against his and he realized she'd wanted this just as much as he did.  
  
His other hand joined his first and he let them both wander, exploring her. Her shirt was soon gone and he crushed her against him ruthlessly. Fingernails scratched paths down his back and he sucked in a deep breath when she grazed against his bruised ribs.  
  
He couldn't get enough of her at once. It was like drowning in a pool of pure energy in his mind, and when they finally hit the edge together, he felt himself explode into unconscious joy.  
  
=/\=  
  
It was the morning light that finally woke her, although her brain fought it every step of the way. She groaned as she tried to stretch her tired muscles, all the good from her relaxing bath yesterday gone. And no wonder, she thought as she encountered a rather heavy impedance to stretching effectively. Two arms trapped her upper body while a leg was thrown possessively over her own. She could have shoved him off she supposed, but it was rather comfortable just laying here with him covering her warmly. Later in the day when it got hot it would be annoying, but right now in the coolness of dawn, it was pleasant.  
  
She let herself snuggle in even closer to his chest and was mildly surprised by the lack of guilt she had to control. In a way she could suppose she'd taken advantage of him, not really knowing who he was and all. He would have never done what they just did if he did.  
  
But then again, he did initiate it.  
  
That was enough to assuage any guilt she did feel. She nuzzled comfortably at the hollow at the base of his throat with her nose, sliding her tongue across the warm flesh of his chest. He moved slightly, murmuring into her hair. She realized he was waking up when his hands skimmed up her back and his mouth found her ear. He clamped down and began sucking with a growl in the back of his throat. She almost giggled at the tickling sensation it created, but no lack of meditation would ever allow her to do that. Vulcan ears were just too sensitive, she sighed to herself.  
  
She reluctantly pulled her ear from his mouth and moved her head up to look into his face. His eyes slid open and slowly focused on hers.  
  
"Hi," he said, with a lopsided grin.  
  
"Good morning." He leaned up and kissed her. It was like a slow burning fire against her lips. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she sucked on it, savoring the taste. He mumbled something and she released him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's not gonna heal right." He was staring at her left shoulder intently. She reached up a hand and encountered tender flesh. "Looks like I bite too hard." His impetuous grin was hardly an apology and she raised an eyebrow.  
  
"At least we match," she said nodding at his own shoulder. Her own perfectly spaced teeth had brought tiny welts of blood to the surface, now dried. He frowned as he twisted his head trying to glimpse the damage done. He bumped his forehead against her nose and she wrinkled it slightly. He grinned at the expression.  
  
"You don't ever smile, but at least I know you feel," he commented faintly. The faraway look in his eyes disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by his easy grin. "I think you need a bath."  
  
"Am I not clean enough for your standards?" The prim look on her face was the best she could manage.  
  
"Naw, it's my fault," he said tracing the bridge of her nose with a finger. "I gotch'all dirty, now it's my job to getchu'all clean." His words slurred delightfully in his mouth, but before she was able to kiss him for it, he'd stood up and thrown her over his shoulder.  
  
"Trip!" It was the closest she'd really ever come to yelling in surprise. He waded into the pool without another word and proceeded to dump her in unceremoniously. The water swirled around her head, bubbling with her passing. She kept her wits about her--Vulcans never exactly learn how to swim--and managed to grab his legs and pull him under with her. They came up together, Trip laughing, her with one eyebrow arched and arms crossed across her bare breasts.  
  
"That was not amusing," she stated grimly. He laughed again and pulled her into a hug.  
  
"At least we're mostly clean now," he consoled jovially. The water only came up to his waist, her stomach; the potential for drowning was minimal. And she was having a hard time keeping her eyes off of the way the water ran down his chest in rivulets. In fact, she found herself leaning over to suck at the hollow of his throat again, this time because of the mere fact that there was water there. He groaned into her hair.  
  
"You're askin' for it, girlie," he warned, sliding his hands down her back.  
  
"And I intend to get it," she said, grazing under his chin with her lips.   
  
And he was more than happy to oblige.  
  
=/\=  
  
Such freedom she had never felt before in her life. They began to travel again that day, now along their stream. It eventually widened enough to be deserving of the name river, but they didn't think about it too much. They were far too busy with each other. Indeed no such freedom had ever been allowed her. One night just before falling asleep in his arms she let her mind wander to the Vulcans who were flying around the galaxy "exploring themselves" and wondered if they just might have it right.  
  
The thought of smug Tolaris being right however rankled her enough to conclude it was just the lack of meditation that was doing this to her, not the idea that Vulcans could exist without logic or emotional control. There would be a limit to how far she could take this without breaking down into her own primal nature, and she doubted even the wild Trip Tucker that had killed the three hunters would have been able to handle her.  
  
And somewhere in the back of her mind while they meandered one day she wondered if Enterprise had given up the search for her two missing officers. Had they been mourned and passed on before they were dead? Had a message been delivered to her parent's home near Mount Seleya that informed them she was "missing in action" and that every attempt had been made to find her, all unsuccessful? Had Captain Archer delivered eulogies for each of them, praising them as officers and as decent people? He would have mourned his friend, Trip, but would he have mourned his science officer that constantly got in the way?  
  
Somehow, she thought he would have. The Captain was such a good person like that.  
  
And one day, they burst out of a thinning forest to find a sweeping plain before them and she realized they had walked away three weeks to come out of the dense jungle they'd crashed into. Night was fast approaching and Trip suggested they return to the shelter of the forest, if only for the night. She nodded her agreement and in turning back, almost missed the standard-issue gray of a Starfleet shuttlepod slicing through the thick atmosphere of the plains.  
  
"Trip!" she called after him. They had not been abandoned after all.  
  
His stared in amazement as the pod landed somewhat awkwardly on an incline. The analytical part of her mind briefly resurged and told her Ensign Mayweather must not be flying before she shoved it back down again. She seized up Trip's hand and began pulling him in the direction of the cooling pod.  
  
"I told you it was real," she stated matter-of-factly. He was still staring, almost uncomprehending. She pulled him to within twenty feet of it when the side hatch popped open. His knife was in his hand before she could blink and he half-crouched as the thin form of Malcolm Reed all but rolled out, soon followed by the lanky one of Captain Archer.  
  
Trip's breathing had increased and she could feel his pulse racing in his hand. She let the itching in her mind flare into a burning and his eyes slid half-closed. "It's okay, Trip, they're here to help."  
  
"T'Pol?" Archer's voice had a catch in it, but she wasn't looking at him. She reached out to gently pry the knife from Trip's fingers. He let her take and she dropped it to the ground before she'd had it for a second. She grasped his face with both her hands and pulled it close to her own.  
  
"You do not need that any more," she pronounced slowly. "You will never need that again." He rested his forehead against hers and she could feel a tear slide from his cheek to hers. Her breath was forced from her as he crushed her against him in a bear hug.  
  
"It's real?" he murmured against her ear.  
  
"Of course it is real," she said, pulling back to give him her best arched eyebrow. "I promised it was so, did I not?" She pulled away completely and slipped one arm around his waist to nudge him the direction of the two Starfleet officers. It was finally time for them to go home.  
  
[the end] 


End file.
